To his surprise, his father reached up with his other hand and placed it on top of Bairn’s, all four hands together, and gently squeezed.
Bairn’s eyes stung with tears. He hadn’t known how badly he’d needed to make things right with his father, and it was doubly sweet and doubly painful because he was sure this was the last time he would see his father alive.
Jacob’s Cabin
March 6, 1738
Two weeks passed without sign or word from Bairn. Then three.
Almost four weeks later, Felix heard the sound of an approaching wagon. He dashed through the forest where he had been trimming logs and ran to where Anna hung laundry on a taut rope hung between two trees. “It’s him! Anna! It’s Bairn! He’s coming! Up the path, now!”
He squinted his eyes. “And he has someone in the wagon. Wait. Two people!”
“Who’s with him, Felix?” Anna said, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Can you see?”
Felix couldn’t believe his eyes. For the first time in his life, he knew he should think before he spoke. In a wobbly voice, he said, “Anna, I think . . . I think you’d better see for yourself.”
Anna stilled, then cried out a shout of joy, and in the next instant she was running down the path to meet her grandparents. Felix took off after her, quickly bypassing her, with the awful dog at his heels.
“Bairn!” he shouted as he ran. “Bairn, Papa lives! He lives!”
Anna had to pinch herself. To think that her grandparents had made that long sea journey, all by themselves! Bairn, they told her, had written to them last fall, asking if they would meet him in Rotterdam in February. And when he did not show up, “We just went on ahead as planned,” her grandfather said. They joined a group of Mennonites and came over on the first ship that left from Rotterdam for the New World. A small ship, and they were blessed to have calm seas and steady winds. Her grandfather said the entire experience was a dream; her grandmother was far less approving. “Some dreams turn into nightmares,” she said, and Anna could not stop smiling.
But her grandmother was a resilient woman. First thing tomorrow, she told Anna, she wanted to take them into the woods to seek out plants. And her grandfather, a man with an extraordinary facility for languages, had plans to become fluent in Indian tongues. They would be a wonderful, valuable addition to their church. Just being here, they already were.
That evening, a celebration was held at Jacob Bauer’s cabin for everyone to welcome the arrival of Anna’s grandparents, and for Bairn to share in the joy of his father’s improved condition. It was just a short time after Bairn left for Philadelphia that Jacob opened his eyes and recognized Dorothea. Day by day, they witnessed noticeable improvements. Slow, but steady. Now, four weeks later, he was able to sit up in bed for short periods. He had a long way to go before he was restored to what he once was, but he was a man with a determined spirit and he seemed to be gaining strength each day.
Bairn had been correct in his assessment. Scurvy was the culprit to blame, after all.
After the meal of rabbit stew, the talk turned to what Bairn had discovered in Philadelphia. “It turns out that the person who took out a blanket warrant on the land is Henrik Newman. His name is on all the warrants. All of them. He paid what was due on them to the London Company. As far as the land agents are concerned, it is his land.”
“Maybe it was the best option,” Peter said, still holding out hope that Henrik Newman was a good man. “Maybe having the warrants redrawn in his name was the best solution. So he could pay what was due on them. Maybe . . . there’s a chance he was trying to do a favor for us.”
Bairn gave him a pitying look. “No chance at all. A month ago, Henrik Newman contacted the London Company and ordered them to evict us.”
Unable to believe her ears, Anna stared at Bairn. Finding out Henrik wasn’t who he pretended to be was one thing, discovering he had lied and stolen from them was quite another matter. He had twisted God’s words to suit his purposes. He had used their kindness as a weapon against them.
Christian tented his fingers together. “Do you think he would truly evict us?”
“Maybe he would do nothing at all,” Josef Gerber said, hope in his voice.
“I think he will wait a few years until the land is greatly improved,” Isaac said, “and then come to claim it.”
“And then he would start a community of his own converts here,” Maria said. “He was always chattering away about finding the new Garden of Eden.”
Anna shuddered. This, this was the man she nearly wed. She did wed him! It was only by the grace of God that the marriage was annulled. It still made her sick to think of him.
“A land agent at the London Company said that Jacob Bauer might have a legal right to challenge Henrik Newman. But it would be a long, costly effort without any guarantees.” Bairn rose and filled his mug with hot water from the kettle. “I do not think we should expend any more effort on a man like him. It’s not our way. We must let God do the reckonin’ for us.”
Our way, she heard him say. It’s not our way.
“I agree,” Christian said. “We could go to Germantown. We could wait for more ships to come in this summer. Join up with another church.”
“I don’t think that’s the answer.” Bairn remained by the fire, his hands wrapped around his mug. “I think we should settle near Lancaster.”
Christian blinked. “That land has been settled.”
“Not all of it. I checked.” Bairn sat back at the table. “There is land to purchase, good land. It’s farther from the frontier, but that also provides more security from clashes between the British and the French.”
“And the Indians,” Barbara said.
Felix added his two cents. “I’ve seen them in the woods.”
“He’s not lying this time,” Catrina volunteered and Felix scowled at her. “I’ve seen them too.”
Bairn set the mug of hot water down and placed his palms on the table. “Listen to me. I can purchase land out west, near Lancaster. Plenty of land for everyone to have a homestead, a farm. I’m able to buy it outright because I’m a British citizen, and I have savings from my years at sea.” He went to his father’s bed to crouch down beside it. “Papa, I think it’s time to let this land go. I think we need to be further south. We are too close to the frontier. Too close to the Indians beyond the Blue Mountains. It does not bode well for the future. Not with the way the British and French are constantly agitating each other.”
“Walk away from all this?” Dorothea said. “Leave what your father began?”
Bairn turned his head to face her. “Start new. Start fresh. Closer to the trade routes. Closer to established farmsteads.”
Christian pressed his palms together in a worried way. “But it’s also closer to the Mennonites. To the Dunkers. They will influence our young.”
Anna’s grandfather tapped his cane lightly, a signal that he wanted to speak. And when he spoke, everyone listened. “There is always something to fear. There always will be. But God will be with us, wherever we go.”
“Even still,” Christian said, “we’ve lost so much time.”
“Nae, Christian,” Bairn said. “There is time enough.”
Everyone looked to Jacob. He was still their bishop, after all. He was lying in bed but paying attention. The thin line of his mouth clamped tight for a moment, and his throat bobbed once as he swallowed. In a voice like a rusty hinge, weak from lack of use, he said, “We will do as my son thinks best. We will go.”
Later that evening, as everyone said goodnight and headed back to their cabins, Bairn lingered by the fire pit outside, and as he had hoped, Anna stayed behind. He was silent for a time, but then he turned and took both of Anna’s hands in his own, calmer and more sure of himself than he had been in a long time. Ever, perhaps.
She gave him a shy look. “You kept your promise to me. You brought my grandparents to me.”
“I would like to take full credit, but most of it goes to yer plucky
grandfather. He made it happen. He said that after everyone left last spring, Ixheim was a dreadful place to be. When my letter arrived, he started packing that very night. And then we have to give God a great deal of the credit for providin’ western gales that carried them over the Atlantic in only five weeks. It’s practically unheard of to make that kind of a crossing.”
“But how did you ever find them in Philadelphia?”
“Everyone within a few blocks of Penn’s Landing hurried to meet the first ship in for the season, the ship rumored to have sailed on angels’ wings over the waters. And there your grandparents were on the upper deck, waving furiously at me, like they fully expected me to be there.” He grinned. “I think they had me confused with my father.”
It had been a glorious moment for Bairn. He wasn’t sure he could even put into words the indescribable joy he felt when he saw Anna’s grandparents on that ship. And to think he had nearly missed it! For he had planned to leave Philadelphia that very morning but had one more errand to run. The thunder of cannon and the ringing of bells signaled the arrival of the first ship of the season. A month ahead of anyone’s expectations! The citizens of Philadelphia rushed to the docks to welcome the ship with a hearty reception, Bairn among them.
He still felt such a wonderment, how this had happened, that God would deliver these two beloved people to his Anna in such a timely way. They had not seen the end of God’s provision.
Bairn had one more story to share with Anna. It had to do with that last errand. He had paid a visit to the savvy printer, Benjamin Franklin. He wanted to let him know he had been most helpful to his family in pointing out the whereabouts of his missing mother and father.
And Bairn left him with a paid advertisement to run in the Pennsylvania Gazette: If anyone comes across a German countess, Magdalena von Hesse, searching for her husband, be sure to direct her to Ephrata Cloister.
Gazing at Anna in the flickering firelight, he changed his mind. Perhaps tomorrow he would tell her, perhaps he never would. All he could think about now was how lovely she looked tonight, and how long he’d waited for this moment. “Anna.” He took hold of her face gently, made her eyes look up into his. “My life is with you, wherever that may be. You believe that, dinnae y’?”
Anna smiled at him, a smile that started from her heart. The first true smile she’d given to him since he had returned with Felix and the countess. “It seems . . . you’ll have to dig up the rose yet again. For our new home.”
Her words warmed his heart. She’d spoken of their new home, of a time when they would be married. He hadn’t lost her.
Bending down, he kissed her lips, tenderly at first, then with all the feelings he had held at bay, and her answering kiss let him know he was home, truly home, where he belonged.
Martin sat awkwardly on his horse, his ill-fitting clothes hanging on him as if he hung on a hook. His pants were too short and his coat sleeves were too long. He wore no hat and his hair was unruly and wind-tossed, flying in all directions. He was a rumpled mess. Rumpled Martin.
“Is your father in the shop?” Faxon Gingerich said, not bothering to look at Tessa as he spoke.
“No. My father hasn’t returned from the frontier yet,” Tessa said. “My mother’s expecting him back any day.”
After Bishop Jacob Hertzler had been injured in a fall two years ago—the only Amish bishop in all the New World—her father had traveled by horseback to the frontier twice a year to act on his behalf: marrying, burying, baptizing. The trip usually took him two weeks, but he’d been gone for three.
Faxon’s glance shifted to the stone house before resting on Tessa, the wind tugging at his beard. “Do you know which direction your father headed?”
“Up the Schuylkill River.”
Faxon stared at her, his face settling into deep lines.
Tessa felt the first ominous tickle start up her spine. “Have you news? Has something happened?”
Faxon’s bushy eyebrows promptly descended in a frown, no doubt thinking she didn’t know her place. It was a common complaint fired at Tessa. Who did she think she was, asking bold questions of an elder?
Worried about her father, that’s what she was. Tessa stared back at him, her head held high, erect. “Is my father in danger?” Tessa looked from Faxon the Saxon to Rumpled Martin and caught their concern. Something had happened.
Faxon ignored her question. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s gone to a neighbor’s to take a meal. They had a new baby. You know how she loves babies.” Everybody knew that, everybody except for Faxon the Saxon. He wouldn’t know that about Anna Bauer because he wouldn’t care. He did not hold much regard for any Amish person apart from Bairn Bauer, for whom he had a grudging admiration.
Faxon swung a leg over his horse to dismount. “Has he made progress on the wagon?”
“Some. It’s not finished though.”
He stood, feet planted, and she knew exactly what he wanted. To see the wagon. Faxon Gingerich had come to her father last summer with a request for him to build a better hauling wagon. Faxon made frequent trips to Philadelphia to sell and trade products and was fed up with wagon wheels stuck in mud. The provincial government was abysmally slow to cobble roads, so he had decided there must be a better design for a wagon. He just couldn’t figure one out.
Tessa wasn’t sure her father would want her to show the unfinished project, but she was proud of his ingenuity and she could tell Faxon would not be dissuaded from seeing it. “I’ll show it to you if you like. I’ll try to explain the design.”
Rumpled Martin jumped off his horse, and she was startled to see that they were now about the same height. He noticed that she had noticed and gave her a big goofy grin. Appalling.
She led the way to her father’s carpentry shop in silence. Hand tools hung neatly along the walls, but most of the shop was taken up with the enormous wooden wagon, eighteen feet from stern to bow. She opened the door and held it for Faxon, enjoying the sight of his bearded jaw drop so low it hit his chest. It was not a common sight to see Faxon the Saxon look nonplussed, and Tessa relished the moment. Savored it.
She inhaled the scent of wood shavings, linseed oil, and wax. Smells associated with her father. Worry circled her mind like bees around flowers. Where was he?
Faxon’s gaze roamed slowly over the wagon; he peered into it, then below it. Its base set on wooden blocks, as her father hadn’t made wheels yet. “A rounded base? What could he be thinking?”
He had immediately honed in on the most noteworthy improvement that Tessa’s father had made—the one that set it apart from all other wagons. “It’s like the keel of a ship. My father used to be a sailor. He said that the curved bottom would keep barrels and goods from shifting and tipping and rolling around.”
“If he can pull that off, it will be a miracle,” Faxon muttered. He and his awful son walked around the wagon, crawled under it, bent low to examine each part of it, murmuring to each other in maddeningly low voices.
“My father said this wagon will be able to haul as much as six tons of freight.”
Faxon Gingerich shot up from a bent position so fast that his long, wiry beard bounced against his round belly. “How much?”
“Six tons. Assuming, of course, that you’ve plenty of horsepower to pull that kind of weight.”
With that piece of information, everything changed. Faxon’s countenance lightened, he continued inspecting the wagon but without the constant frown.
“It’s not meant for people to ride in it,” Tessa said. “Strictly a freight wagon. The teamster walks along the left side.”
The frown was back. “No place for a teamster to sit?”
“There’s a board for him to sit if he grows weary.” Tessa bent down and slid out a wooden board.
“How many oxen would be needed to pull six tons of freight?”
“Quite a few. At least six.”
Faxon’s forehead puckered.
“Or horses could be used too.�
��
“Not possible,” Faxon said. “They’re not strong enough. Has to be oxen.”
“My uncle Felix has bred a type of horse that can pull the kind of heavy freight the Conestoga wagon can carry.”
Now Faxon’s bushy eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “The Conestoga wagon?”
“That’s what my father calls it. To honor your valley. He said you gave him the idea for it. Credit goes to you.”
Faxon the Saxon’s chest puffed out and he very nearly smiled. It often puzzled Tessa how men needed personal significance to see things clearly. Their secret pride.
“Looks nearly finished to me. Just missing wheels.”
“Wheels, yes, but there’s still quite a bit of hardware to be made,” Tessa said. “Plus pitch will be needed to make the seams watertight. And my mother and Maria Mueller will sew canvas cloth to cover the wagon bows, front to back.”
Rumpled Martin regarded her thoughtfully. “You seem to know a lot about it.”
Sarcasm. He may be taller now but he was just as rude. She ignored him and spoke only to his father. “You can find out more about it after my father returns.”
Faxon’s pleased look instantly faded. He exchanged a look with Rumpled Martin, whose misgiving showed plain on his face. A dark cloud descended in the carpentry shop. Something had happened along the frontier. “Tell me what’s happened.”
Faxon’s face flattened and he went stone still for a full minute. “Trouble has come to our brethren in the north. There’s been another Indian attack on families who settled along the Schuylkill River.”
Tessa felt an unsettling weakness in the base of her stomach. These stories had become too common. “Did you recognize any names?”
“Just one. Zook. William and Martha Zook. The parents were found dead, the children were taken captive.”
Tessa’s heart started to pound. “Betsy Zook?”
The Newcomer Page 25
